


Closer

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-17
Updated: 2010-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's POV of Mohinder/Sylar over the years (as a child, a teenager and a young woman)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closer

_"The obscure we see eventually. The completely obvious, it seems, takes longer."   
_**\--Edward R. Murrow**

_"The question is not what you look at, but what you see."   
_**\--Henry David Thoreau**

 

 

Over the course of her life she has learned to pay attention to the details.

There is meaning in everything, after all. One just needs to know how to look.

Molly learned this by watching with alert inquisitive eyes. She was a quick study.

It was during the second visit, and that word seems far too quaint to describe what was still a hostage situation which in turn sounds far too harsh when referring to something that fell somewhere in between the two, when she truly began to see the _other_ conversation going on between them.

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

There was something she could not quite put her finger on in the way Sylar looked at Mohinder like he wanted to consume him, and not in a murderous "I want to destroy your very being" kind of way but in more of a "I want to feel every beat of your pulsing marrow flow through me" way.

To be fair, during the days leading up to Sylar's return she had been reading one of Chandra's books about the similar rituals in different cultures concerning the literal and metaphorical taking of another person's abilities and energy source through the act of ingesting a piece of them.

That may have coloured her view at the time but it did not change the ever-curious image that unfolded before her; a living, breathing tableau of which she was a spectator assigned the task of bestowing meaning.

It was Mohinder's reaction to Sylar, the instigator of all things that went bump and creak in the night, that Molly fixed herself to. Despite the hint of nervousness in his eyes, for her well being it seemed (a realization she has come to judge the various forms of love in her adult years with), Mohinder had appeared firmly resolved to be as resistant as the situation would allow. Standing tall, head held high, he kept his eyes in check while trying to hold them firmly against the man opposing him.

He should have been petrified. Instead, annoyed and curious were the two words that came to Molly's mind that time around.

However she wonders how much of that second visit she would have read differently if not for the first one months before.

Even with Maya as an emotional mess most of that time, Molly's eyes had only occasionally left Mohinder and Sylar who were off to the lab at the side of the loft.

For a cold blooded murderer Sylar had seemed strangely in tune with Mohinder, trying to engage him in conversation even if it was, initially, one-sided banter. The extent of their strange and passably amicable behaviour was revealed in the deadly consequence that befell those who tried to break into the tightly wound sphere.

Maya's temporary death had been all the confirmation necessary for Molly; along with Mohinder's act of confidence in risking his own life to buy them all time.

That Mohinder felt he could take such a chance with Sylar, of all people, was the pertinent point for Molly. That Sylar had not killed Mohinder for such a mutinous act was nearly Molly's undoing.

It was much easier to hate Sylar when he was only the boogieman.

But when a killer, a monster created by his own hand, by the hand of God, by the natural evolutionary progression of the human race, very consciously spared the life of a man who was quite good in comparison, Molly was at a complete loss.

Her only lifesaver, that just barely kept her mind from turning on her, was to take shelter in Mohinder's stoic countenance. Without Mohinder, Molly's child self would have broken apart, limb by limb, at Sylar's confused show of mercy; unable to reconcile his continuous sparing of Mohinder's life with the burned in specter of her parents desecrated bodies displayed in horrific ritualistic poses by the same hand.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

Although Sylar's visits were infrequent over the years he was always present in some way. He was inescapable really.

Molly's eyes saw the invisible weight that pushed down on Mohinder's body when Sylar was not physically there. Even though Mohinder always made their home feel safe, warm and filled with love for her he could not completely disguise the thoughts that plagued him daily.

They were housed in the silence of Mohinder's mouth when a far away expression, of his mind drifting away, settled on his face and in the exhaustive sigh when he did not think she was listening. Molly felt Sylar in the darkened corners of Mohinder's eyes or looking over the curve of his drooping shoulders. Mohinder took on the opposite characteristics when Sylar showed up; he was clearer, firmer with his words, calculated in his actions.

As a child she imagined the strength Mohinder needed to draw on so as not to lose his mind when dealing with someone who had intentionally hurt so many. Mohinder was wondrous in her eyes as the big brother she had always wanted, quietly acknowledging the danger of their situation while impassively taking on the impending threat that was constantly looming over them.

He did not speak of Sylar directly to her but he did not ignore the issue either. Instead there was an understanding instructed through his body language, _he won't hurt either of us but you have to follow my lead_, wordlessly agreed upon, to which they both adhered. That had come into play after the first time but subsequent visits, what Molly saw, had shifted the boundaries of their contract; adding more things they would not speak aloud but that Molly made unforgettable note of.

Throughout the years she had perfected the art of remaining unnoticeable in her quiet observations of the two. It was not that hard with little else to distract her. Maya was already gone by the time Sylar made his second appearance. Her abilities still too much of a potentially explosive bomb; Maya had quite willingly agreed to enter The Company, calling their facilities home.

As for Matt, who carried the guilt of Molly's involvement during Sylar's first hostage situation, the second visit prompted him to put his foot down. He and Mohinder had worked out an arrangement where Matt had primary custody and she still saw Mohinder every other weekend. Since her and Matt had remained in the city, however, she sometimes took advantage of the opportunity to drop in on Mohinder whenever the mood struck.

Molly loved the look of welcome surprise on Mohinder's face on the occasions when she turned up; a bright smile, happy eyes that went wide and laughter in his voice were home to her. Her talks with him were amongst the most interesting of her life and recalling them was always a welcome trip down memory lane. As with all things Molly had come to love in her life, however, there was always something else stalking her just beneath the surface, threatening to slowly rip apart what she thought she knew.

In the apartment, from the doorway of her bedroom or peering over the top of a book she was pretending to read in the living room, she would let her eyes take in as much as they could.

_There was no such thing as a casual glance._

That was something people did when they passed each other on the street or traveled between subway stops. An inconsequential look there was no motivation to really see the other person as anything more than a sightline impediment. A casual glance lasted no longer than one second.

Sylar looked at Mohinder as if time did not exist. When Mohinder's eyes focused elsewhere, on the laptop or over towards her watching face, she saw Sylar's eyes linger along Mohinder's profile or run up and down the length of his body when he moved around the apartment.   
In another one of Chandra's books that she had devoured she had read about how the eyes, scientifically speaking, really were the windows to the soul. The pupils would grow larger to let in something they liked or needed (like needing more light in a dark room) or get smaller to keep out something unwanted (like when there is too much sun on a bright day). The concept could be applied to looking at other people.

Curiousity had gotten the better of her once and she had gone to the kitchen under the pretense of wanting a glass of water. Keeping her eyes trained on Sylar's, as he watched Mohinder, his pupils were like wide black saucers, black holes. It had sent a shiver down her spine out of worry for Mohinder and out of fascination at seeing one person so intent on another.

From secretly overheard conversations between Mohinder and Matt regarding the nature of Sylar's intuitive aptitude, Molly had hypothesized that Sylar was trying to decode all the pieces of Mohinder that worked in perfect order to bring to life the physical being he was with the essence of something so precisely him.

Mohinder's looks mixed worry and wonderment. While Sylar spoke forceful words or walked contemptuously around the apartment, Mohinder's eyes focused very much on his face as if all the answers he was desperately looking for existed somewhere along the lines of his skin, the corners of his eyes or the twitch of his mouth.

Worry seemed mostly related to the return of Sylar's powers, which he would threateningly demonstrate on random household objects. But it was the curiousity revealed in the widening of Mohinder's eyes that Molly found captivating. Mohinder would look at an unknowing Sylar after one of these powered outbursts like he had just completed an elaborate magician's trick, his eyes wanting to decipher the human enigma.

The times that their gazes met were amongst the most unusual and intriguing for Molly. No one else was in the room for the time they held that look. Two pairs of eyes saying things to each other Molly could not hear; words she would never understand. Wanting and defiant, wide and steely they did not back down. A grown mans staring contest with much more on the line than a childish "I made you blink."

_Personal space was actually a flexible concept._

Compact and restricted or spacious and fluid, it moved with them. In steps that seemed choreographed to Molly, Sylar would step towards Mohinder who, in turn, would move back. Mohinder would walk away and Sylar would swagger behind him. Stretching and closing the distances they made Molly think of an elastic band. The shape could be altered but it always retained fixed ends, always connected.

Up close with hardly any space between them, penetrating eyes matched unmovable bodies, each silently daring the other to back down or try for domination.

Far apart with cluttered space as obstacles to maneuver; they were a physical chess-match. Their actions were the physical embodiment of trying to outthink the other. Cutting across the floor, standing on opposite sides of the kitchen table, Mohinder with his hands firmly gripping the top rung of a kitchen chair while Sylar would make use of his height to look down condescendingly from a tilted gaze, it was a non-stop power play in which the winner took all.

And then there was the physical, always the physical. When the silent mind games alone did not suffice, it was hand on body pushing, shoving, grasping and clinging. Almost always forceful it was never brutal. It bruised but did not destroy. Reminders of forget-me-nots.

Molly had secretly watched Mohinder's fingers lightly brush over a patch of skin where a purple welt had taken up residence for two weeks, months earlier, before fading away. His fingers had traced along like they could feel the edges of the old mark that was no longer visible to the naked eye.

She had wondered if Sylar ever did the same with the abrasions that Mohinder had inflicted in return. Did Sylar use those after they faded to decide when to return? Were those injuries a calendar of bruised bone and broken blood capillaries?

_Conversations with taunting tones that insulted and ridiculed were still conversations. _

Hidden amongst the illusions from inflections were questions that sought answers. Rudeness had not masked concern; threats had not disguised genuine curiousity. In conjunction with everything else, the more serious the discussion the closer the space between them got, unbreakable gazes linked to hushed voices that Molly could only guess at.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

There were such subtle shifts as the years collected together. With so much remaining as usual the things that did alter gave way to suspicions that a teenage Molly adamantly resisted and obsessed over.

It was then her angry eyes that watched Sylar casually approach Mohinder as he stood next to his desk. Standing up against him Mohinder had not stepped away. Under her glare, unknown to either of them, Mohinder sat down at the desk and Sylar leaned over his shoulder, one arm lying across the desk, the other hand unapologetically resting on the back of Mohinder's neck. Even with the addition of stern words Mohinder had not flinched. Molly's bitterness had been held at bay by morbid puzzlement.

Those were the years she took out her frustrated confusion on Mohinder when it was just the two of them. Verbal assaults she levied at him wounded his pride and heart. She had not stopped at the sight of frustrated tears in the corners of his eyes or when her own tears spilled down her cheeks and drowned her vocal chords.

His hands placed firmly on her shoulders held back her barrage as he tried to still her. The plea for calm at the back of this throat hitched to words of strength and soothing. She would not hear him.

How could Mohinder be cordial to a murderer? How could he let the monster touch him or joke with him? Why was he welcome into _their _home? Why hadn't Mohinder just killed Sylar or sought help to do so? Why hadn't Sylar killed her and Mohinder? What did Mohinder have that kept Sylar coming back? Would Sylar ever leave them be?

Mohinder was the target of her accusations because Molly knew he would not turn on her, never stop loving her no matter how much she pushed out of petulance. He willingly took the brunt of her attacks admitting that he could not explain to her what would never make sense. It only served to stroke her anger.

Hours later, abuse heaped upon her room, her pain finally exorcised through sobbed tears, Molly would gather up her courage and peak out from her doorway. It rarely changed. Mohinder would be sitting in silence, a vow of muted self-reflection, at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.

The sound of Molly's sorry footsteps would not alter his position. She would stand up behind his chair and place both her hands lightly on his shoulders. A tired sigh would escape his mouth as he sat back up, letting her know he _did _understand her. In turn she would wrap her arms around his shoulders.

"Don't give up on me, Molly," Mohinder would tell her with conviction.

"I never would," she always promised.

An imperfect older brother, flawed and ridiculous, Molly saw Mohinder hiding so much to protect her, to save so many others, while still trying to keep something hidden all for himself.

She was not naïve to think that Sylar's rare visits coincidentally coincided only with weekends she happened to be around. At Matt's, late at night while he snored from his room down the hall, she sometimes looked for Sylar. More often than not he was far away doing god knows what, something horrific and disgusting she had imagined. But sometimes he was right where she feared.

She never brought those discoveries to Mohinder's attention, partly out of wanting to ignore it and partly hoping he would tell her of his own accord, letting her know he was okay. He never did.

Still, she tried her best to always trust him.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

There were things that could not be unseen or unremembered (without the help of the Haitian she mused), however. Maybe it was better that way. To be able, whether she wanted to or not, to recall a memory that reminded her how complex people really are.

That good people could still do things, or feel things, that made sense to no one else and that bad people could still be moved by a want that was protective and merciful, unbreakable. She could judge it all she wanted but it had not changed the baffling reality.

For years Molly had convinced herself of the limited extent of Mohinder's relationship to Sylar.

Quiet conversations in the living room that counted the rundown of time from late night to early morning, Molly would strain to listen from under her bed covers for any decipherable words. Sometimes names broke through; strangers names mostly but on occasion names like "Peter" or "Monica" filtered across the space of the floor, under her closed door and skipped up the messy bedcovers into her ears.

Her own name came up many times.

Chandra's name was spoken rarely but even she understood the significance as murmurings would stop and she was certain Sylar would suddenly decide to murder them in their sleep.

She would pull the blanket tight around her, nearly suffocating herself while she created a cocoon she imagined as a personal force field.

Molly understood that there was an emotional dependence between Mohinder and Sylar, given their history. She could not ignore the intellectual connection that existed between them, given their conversations. But the question of anything else was something she refused to contemplate. There had been far too much unremorseful hurt inflicted by Sylar; unforgivable acts of hate.

Yet she could not deny the suggested intimacies. Besides those she witnessed she had began to increasingly occupy her thoughts with those she had not seen.

Her interest in the criminal mind and, more generally, how the human mind worked, drove her to the decision to study psychology at NYU. She had delved into her studies vigorously, reading one book after the other, sometimes going amongst three at once.

Matt was thrilled to see her focused on school. She guessed that to him it meant she was not consumed with the dangerous work that he did for a living particularly as it pertained to people like them.

She felt Mohinder understood a bit better her intellectual appetite. Molly would catch his watchful eyes while she read. He always kept extra pens and paper on hand for her excessive note taking. In retrospect she wonders if his pride in her at that time was seeing her channel her inquisitive nature and desire for knowledge in a positive direction.

It was a week right before finals when she was back at Matt's that she realized she had left one of her textbooks at Mohinder's over the weekend. In the middle of the next day she had headed over to the apartment to retrieve it.

With Mohinder at the lab working, Molly had headed straight to her room. Spotting the book lying on top of her dresser she had shut the door, picked it up and stretched out along the bed, flipping through the pages. Time had run away from her, it normally had when she read, and it was not until the front door opened that she checked her watch. Four hours had passed since she had arrived.

She had begun to get off the bed to greet Mohinder when she had heard his raised voice. Angry words caught in her ears, something about Maya going rogue. The irritated voice that answered him, with much less concern for the dire circumstances given what Maya was capable of doing (channeling her sickness on one person, she no longer needed to be near her victim to do so), was unquestionably Sylar's.

As quietly as she could Molly had tiptoed to her bedroom door, nudged it open only an inch or two, and peaked out. Mohinder's face had looked worried while Sylar's seemed more pensively pissed off. It was Sylar who suggested using her to track Maya down but Mohinder had shouted bloody murder, over his dead body would Sylar get anywhere near her.

Molly could not help but wonder if Mohinder's concern was twofold. One, Sylar might get an inkling for it if he saw her use it and two, Mohinder did not know how to tell her that someone she had once been close to might be in a lot of trouble.

Sylar had stepped close and placed his hand on Mohinder's shoulder; telling Mohinder to relax because they would find Maya. Mohinder had forcibly shrugged the hand off and stepped back. His eyes glared at Sylar.

"Stop acting like this isn't a catastrophic problem in the making," Mohinder had seethed.

"She can be stopped, Mohinder," Sylar attempted.

"She can strike anyone down no matter where they are," Mohinder rushed out. "They were suppose to help her and instead they turned her into a weapon--,"

"A controllable weapon," Sylar had interrupted with annoyance in his voice.

"You can't control a human being!" Mohinder had yelled in return. " No matter how hard you try, there's still something inside that cannot be forced. Who knows what they did to her?! Who knows who she is hunting down and for what reasons?!"

Molly had remained hidden, spying as Mohinder slumped against the kitchen table, half sitting on top, legs still holding him up, concern pushing his shoulders down.

A moment had passed with Sylar's eyes staying on Mohinder's face before he had taken a few steps towards him and placed both his hands on Mohinder's shoulders.

Before Sylar had spoken Mohinder had quietly said, "I should have warned her better when she said she wanted to go to The Company. But…I was worried about her staying with us and accidentally hurting Molly. I didn't want to take that chance so I let her go. This is as much my fault."

"And I'm the narcissist," Sylar had scoffed sarcastically dropping his hands while he looked down on Mohinder.

Mohinder had angrily stood up to walk away when Sylar aggressively grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled Mohinder close.

"It's not always about you, Mohinder."

Mohinder's response was a two handed shove that sent Sylar back a few steps, a smirk on his face. Mohinder had rolled his eyes and turned his back. As he had walked away, across the kitchen floor, Sylar had stalked behind and reached out to turn Mohinder around.

It was so quick that Molly almost had not seen the elbow jab that Mohinder slammed into Sylar's stomach, sending the taller man doubled over, hands to his stomach and a guttural "oomph" from his mouth.

It had not ended there. Following the same movement, Mohinder had spun around and grabbed Sylar's shirt with both his hands, pulling him up to a standing position. Face to face, Mohinder had turned them around so that it was Sylar he slammed into the side of the kitchen counter.

Molly had not been able to see Mohinder's face but she was able to see Sylar's arrogant grimace as Mohinder held onto him.

_Held onto him.   
_  
She had seen Mohinder's fingers gripping the folds of twisted cloth within them. There was no flattened palm on the chest pushing away. His hand was pulling closer.

"This isn't about me?" Mohinder had accused. "This--,"

He had gripped Sylar's shirt tighter before continuing.

"Isn't about us? What you've done – what I've done! You turning up here two or three times a year doesn't change what happens the other three hundred and sixty two days! We can't --,"

Sylar had cut off Mohinder mid ramble by powerfully grabbing his shoulders and practically spinning him off of his feet until Sylar had him backed up against the counter with nowhere to go.

"I'll find her if it will stop your moaning," Sylar had deplored, admonishing Mohinder. "You and I know there are more important things to be dealt with first. Besides --,"

Molly had watched Sylar's hands move upwards, taking a hold of Mohinder's face so that he could not turn his head. Not that it seemed to Molly as if Mohinder was trying to resist.

"We have some unfinished business from last time," Sylar finished intently.

As Sylar had Mohinder trapped, Molly had been frightened to think Sylar would hurt Mohinder irrevocably. Her hand had been a moment away from flinging the door open and putting a stop to their masochistic game once and for all when she saw something that made her shake her head as if to make sure she had not been mistaken the first time.

Without question Mohinder was still angry, his body steadily inhaling deep breaths, his eyes in an unflinching glare. But there was the hint of a smile at the edges of his mouth.

_A smile?_

Pulling upwards gently, not big and bright like the ones he shared with her when they joked around or she debated a point with him in preparation for classes; this one was subtle and wanting.

Sylar, whose heavy breathing had matched the man he held so close, had stepped closer to Mohinder, eliminating the space between them.

With his hands still holding Mohinder's face Molly had heard Sylar say "Mohinder" in a tone that was both pleading and insistent, something she had never heard from him before.

A hot blush of embarrassment had rushed through her body and up across her face at what she witnessed. It was a very private moment between two people that was never intended for other eyes, especially not hers.

Nonsensical understanding had backed her away from the door. She could not pretend she was not there. Quick thoughts had guided her into putting her headphones on and then slamming some books to the floor as she sat on the edge of her bed.

It had been five seconds tops until Mohinder nervously opened her door. She had pretended that she had been listening to her ipod and had not realized anyone else had come home.

Mohinder, she suspected by the furrowed brow, had known better but not all. As she had passed by him with her shoulder bag on (a hand-me-down from him when she got into NYU) and her textbook in hand he had quietly asked, "Molly?" with uneasy concern.

She could have lied, pretended she knew nothing, but she had felt the urgency to try to lighten, in whichever way she could, the load that Mohinder still carried as his own personal burden.

"It's okay," Molly had told him with a sweet smile. "I'll see you at the end of next week."

Leaving the bedroom her eyes had met a visibly annoyed Sylar watching her with Mohinder. She could tell that he had not liked her being there. His eyes spoke the words that his coldly blank face refused to waste on her. She was an intruder in _their_ space that night.

She could not understand it, she never would, but there it was all the same between a man she loathed but heartbreakingly tolerated and a man who had taken her into his house, family and heart when he could have just as easily handed her off to someone more capable without looking back once.

She had done it for him and had only hoped Mohinder would recognize that in the tone of her words and appreciation in her eyes, in the gentle squeeze of her hands on his arm and the wordless stare she aimed at Sylar when she exited the apartment.

Her walk home had been filled with questions she would never find answers to. Had she not announced herself how far would they have gone? Was that what happened the nights that Sylar would unexpectedly turn up and she wasn't there? What was it that they felt for each other? Was it just Mohinder's loneliness (the discovery had sort of answered her own question about Mohinder's seemingly lack of a social life by choice – maybe not so lacking after all) that drove him? Was Sylar genuine in his intentions? How could Mohinder accept Sylar after everything?

All those categorized gestures, looks and conversations, all those arguments, fights and periods of downtime between visits; when had it all changed into something else? Had it been there before she was ever even a blip in Mohinder's thought process? Was it real?

That night was another thing that she and Mohinder did not speak about. Not for lack of trying on Mohinder's part. A handful of times he had tried to broach the issue, out of what, Molly was not sure. Needing or wanting her to understand? She could not be that sympathetic shoulder. To place his own acknowledged vulnerabilities at her feet, reminding her of his own imperfections? That would be nothing new.

She was the one who changed the subject each time. She despised the way Mohinder had to force his eyes to not look away from her as he tripped over words that were never enough. Molly could not explain it except to say it seemed so demeaning for Mohinder and that was something she could not deal with. Not after everything he had done for her. The risks he had constantly wagered his life with to protect others deserved her silence the one time he needed it. He had asked for nothing else.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

If there was such a thing as a defining moment, a wrinkle in time during which the tides turned or casual shifts in the grains of sand became more obvious, what Molly almost stumbled upon may have been it.

Sylar's infrequent visits had become even more sporadic; in fact years could go by in the interim. Mohinder's position within the newest version of The Company took him away more often but phone calls once a week and beautifully scripted handwritten letters (he was still the only person whom Molly knew who extolled the virtues of longhand and the wonder that came with receiving a personally addressed, stamped letter in the mail) kept the two of them connected across invisible distances and countless time.

Molly collected Mohinder's letters with the giddiness of the child she once was. Sometimes pulling a random one from the stack she would gingerly trace her fingertips along the edges of the paper, lightly feeling across the inked curved writing he had put such thoughtful time into. Her eyes looked for clues in the words Mohinder chose, desperately trying to assign a tone to the muted sentences, looked for anything that would indicate if Sylar was still ever present.

Either Mohinder knew nothing or withholding personal information was part of his expertise. Molly was never able to find what she was looking for.

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

Analyzing the most recent letter now she finally wonders if this is precisely it; the biggest clue has been staring her in the face all these years. Absolute omission of anything Sylar is an admission in itself. Why else avoid it except out of concern for the prying eyes of unwelcome outsiders?

For a research scientist Mohinder's life is very dangerous. He had learned through missteps and misplaced trust to watch his back. Molly, in turn, had learned through eavesdropped conversations and being in the middle of more violent scenarios than any person, let alone a child, should ever experience.

Look closer she reminds herself on a daily basis. It is odd thinking of ones self as a bargaining chip but in many ways that is what she has been to them and it is not nearly as crude as it sounds.

Molly wonders if in the beginning Mohinder had reluctantly allowed Sylar's volatile presence in their lives, tentatively working with him, on condition that she was not to be harmed. Considering that Sylar had tried to kill her before, taking what he wanted with brute force if necessary, his change of heart had been a significant change in plans. His threats towards her had become increasingly empty, more sarcastic actually; after all had he still wanted to kill her there was nothing to stop him.

Except Mohinder.

And really, Molly reasons, what could Mohinder do against a multi-powered Sylar but take away the one thing that Sylar wanted; him.

Molly knows she is family to Mohinder, as he is to her. Mohinder means more to Sylar than taking her ability. Sylar sees her specifically in relation to Mohinder.

Alongside Mohinder's letters, Molly's life is a testament to the strange triangle they form. Despite her intellectual curiousity and well-honed observational skills from years of watching, despite ongoing self-defense classes that she stuck with after Matt encouraged her to get involved in high school, Molly was still alive because Mohinder willed it. He had demanded it as one of a list of conditions and somewhere along the way it had become the only one still standing, still worth some weight in a priceless personal currency.

An understanding that she was never told about directly, Molly lives at its centre for Mohinder. In Sylar's eyes, she guesses, Mohinder is the heart that binds them.

In her eyes Mohinder and Sylar are a mishmash of double entendres, optical illusions, confessions parading as arguments disguising impassioned sincerity, cruel to be kind rips of skin with ragged edges of coagulated blood pools, purple, black and yellow on top of pale white and chocolate brown.

A collage of mixed messages, but Molly knows how to look closer.

The meaning is always in the details. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Heroes Slash Awards (Summer 2008)  
> **Nominated for Best Molly Characterization** (WINNER)  
> **Nominated for Best Other Female Characterization**


End file.
